


green looks good on you

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: interhouse_fest, F/F, Hogwarts Inter-House Rivalries, Marauders' Era, Prank Wars, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 04:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12927597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: A prank war between Hogwarts houses can make friends and lovers of enemies.





	green looks good on you

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2017 [Interhouse Fest](http://interhouse-fest.livejournal.com/) on LJ. Originally posted [here](https://interhouse-fest.livejournal.com/142473.html) and [here](https://interhouse-fest.dreamwidth.org/9204.html).
> 
> Set in the Marauders’ 5th year, with Narcissa as a 7th year.

**_days until the easter holidays: 21._ **

 -

“Did you ask?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“She said no.” Severus sighs, leans back against the armchair, his head rolling against the cushion to look at Narcissa. “She thinks it’s childish.”

“That didn’t stop her from helping Lupin take our house flag,” Narcissa points out, her hand running down the length of her thigh and smoothing the wrinkles in her robes. “Or Ravenclaw’s, for that matter.”

“I know,” says Severus. It’d felt like betrayal, almost, to see Lily holding the Slytherin flag in triumph, her head thrown back in laughter as Lupin waved Ravenclaw’s. Potter had held Hufflepuff’s, and Black had run the length of the Great Hall with Gryffindor’s wrapped around his neck like a cape, hollering and hooting like a moron until McGonagall had snapped at him to calm down.

Not that he’d actually listened, Severus recalls bitterly. They’d only escaped the gloating once they’d returned to the Common Room.

“We need her for it to work,” Narcissa reminds him, as if Severus doesn’t already know. “You’re sure you can’t persuade her?”

“Not within the time restraint,” he says. The Easter holiday is fast approaching, and Severus knows from previous years that the break acts as an unofficial ceasefire. They’ve got up until then to win the current prank war—anything after will hardly count.

Slytherin still  _is_  winning in Severus’ opinion. The flag incident was clever, but it was hardly as impressive as the previous pranks. Gryffindor had started it, as usual, by sneaking into the Slytherin commons and rearranging all their furniture; leaving it so the Slytherin students woke to a trashed Common Room, steaks of red and gold painted haphazardly over the walls and décor. It’d taken a fair bit of time to rearrange everything, and the paint had stuck around for a week.

They’d bribed some house elves in retaliation—had got them to spike the Gryffindor table’s pumpkin juice with potions that’d had half of them throwing their breakfast up and the other half walking around bald for the day. It’d been funny enough that most of Slytherin hadn’t cared about the amount of points deducted.  

Their retaliation is always the official start—the thing that sets the war into motion. Gryffindor had followed by recruiting Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, which had ended with the Slytherin stands glowing red and gold during the latest Quidditch match, a chant on triumphant lions filling the field, which had, in turn, ended with Sirius Black almost getting hit in the head by a bludger. Rosier had been sent to detention for that one, but he’d gone with a smile on his face, his actions backed by most of his fellow house mates.

It’d continued on after that, back and forth until they’d all but ran out of ideas. All, except one.

It’d been Parkinson’s idea, and though it’d come across as bland at first, they’d managed to turn it into something good. Operation Payback, is what some are calling it—an opportunity to get back at not only their fellow classmates, but their teachers, too. It will take some work—a fair bit of brewing, and more than enough sneaking around—but they’d win for sure.

All that’s left to do is secure a way into the Gryffindor commons, a task that’d been assigned to Severus.  _Use the mudblood,_  is what Rosier had said, and Severus had hardly been able to argue.

“We just need a new plan,” Severus murmurs, watching as Narcissa leans back in her seat.

From the look on her face, he knows she’s already coming up with one.

***

It takes Narcissa two days to devise a new plan, and she wastes no time in putting it into action.

Stalking the rows of the of library, she searches for the familiar figure of Severus. She finds him, as expected, tucked away in the corner at the back, the desk in front of him piled high with thick tomes and scattered parchment. The Evans girl is sitting at his side, and for the first time ever, Narcissa is pleased about it. Their friendship will work to her advantage.

She walks toward them, slipping into the seat beside Severus without preamble. “Hello,” she says, voice quiet as she pulls a book from her bag.

Both look to her with surprise, watching as she sets out her portion of the desk. Evans shoots Severus a quick, confused look—her posture tense and rigid and obviously uncomfortable—and Severus sighs.

“Why don’t you go get the Transfiguration textbook?” he suggests. “We can do that next.”

Lily nods, taking the hint. She stands, traces of confusion still lingering on her expression, and walks toward the Transfiguration section of the library. She’s barely out of earshot before Severus has turned back to Narcissa.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and Narcissa smiles innocently.

“Winning,” she tells him. “If you can’t get her to help, I will.”

“You,” Severus repeats. His voice is a deadpan, his mouth twitching like it isn’t sure if he should laugh or frown. “You think you can convince her?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not going to work.”

“It will.”

“She hates you,” Severus says bluntly. “Complains about you all the time. Just today, she told me you’ve got the personality of a flobberworm.”

Narcissa huffs, hand reaching to brush her fringe from her face. “She’s not spoken to me in years.”

“No,” Severus agrees. “Not since she called you a vile little rat in third year—right after you called her muggle filth, as I recall.”

Narcissa stifles the urge to sigh. Severus is right, of course. Her and Evans hardly have a good relationship, or any type of relationship at all. Their interaction is limited to dismissive glances and poorly veiled sneers—and even then, those are only brought about by having Severus as a mutual friend.

“I’ll make it work.”

Severus eyes her carefully, curiosity shining behind black eyes. “Why do you even care?” he asks. “You hardly ever participate in these things.”

“It’s my last year here,” Narcissa answers. “I can’t let Sirius win, we’d never hear the bloody end of it at home.”

“I—” Severus’ response is cut short by the sight of Lily returning, a worn book held in hand. She shoots him a glance, waits for an explanation, but all Severus has to offer is a quick, one shouldered shrug.

“McGonagall’s making you turn inanimate objects into animals, isn’t she?” Narcissa says, looking between them as Evans takes her seat. She fixes a polite smile on her face, sends Severus a purposeful glance. “You said you needed help with that, didn’t you?”

She can see the look of resignation flash across Severus’ face. “We both do,” he admits. “Nothing ever gets done in class—Potter and Black are too busy turning everything into a debacle.”

Evans snorts. “You egg them on,” she says, grinning when Severus glares. “What? You do!”

“They start it.”

“Not always.”

“Yes, always.”

“Last time yo—”

“What if I help,” Narcissa says, interrupting before their bickering can escalate to something more. She’s seen the two of them around—has noticed how they seem to argue more often than they don’t, these days, and she has no desire to deal with it. “I’m at the top of my class.”

“You?” Evans asks, suspicious.

“Me,” Narcissa confirms. “Transfiguration is my speciality. I can tutor the both of you.”

Narcissa watches as they exchange a look, pleased to note the hint of interest on Evans’ face. Severus tells her that she can decide, and Evans turns back to Narcissa, critical.

“What do you want in return?”

“Nothing,” Narcissa responds, smirking when Evans’ eyebrow arches in disbelief. “Severus is already helping me with Potions,” she adds. “Consider this remittance.”

Never mind that she actually pays Severus for his help, or that she feels secure enough now in her ability that the extra lessons are near obsolete. It would get the girl to agree—and right now, that’s her main priority.

The silence stretches, broken only by the soft bustle of the library around them. Narcissa waits, patient. When Evans finally accepts with a quiet  _okay_ , Narcissa allows herself a triumphant smile.

“Wonderful,” she says, pulling the text from under Lily’s hands and flipping it open. “Let’s start with theory, shall we?”

Later, after a semi successful study session, when her and Severus are walking back to the Common Room, Severus turns to her. “I still expect to be paid,” he says, and Narcissa laughs—soft and airy in the vacant corridor.

“What if we make it a bet,” she suggests. “If my plan fails, I pay. If it works, you pay.”

She watches as Severus considers it. “You’re on,” he says eventually, turning another corner, and Narcissa smiles—a rare mischievous streak on display.

 

 

**_days until the easter holidays: 14._ **

 -

Narcissa looks up when Severus takes the seat in front of her, a familiar book landing on the small desk. “Why are we doing this now?” he asks. “You set up a meeting for later.”

“You’re not coming to the one,” Narcissa tells him, flipping the transfiguration textbook open.

They’re in the Common Room this time, tucked away at the back. Most of Slytherin is outside enjoying what’s left of the weekend, but there are still a few people lazing about—quiet enough to not be a bother.

“What?”

“You’re uninvited,” Narcissa clarifies.

“Why?”

“Because you’re a distraction,” Narcissa says. “Evans relies on you too much when I’m there. I need to talk to her alone.”

“For your plan.”

“Yes.”

“Which is...?”

Narcissa’s mouth twitches, a hint of a smirk. “Do you remember the Christmas holidays?” she asks. “When you caught Evans and Marlene McKinnon going at it behind a suit of armour?”

Severus’ mouth opens as if to respond, but he shuts it again when no words come. Narcissa watches—can see the moment realisation hits. He arches an eyebrow at her, face displaying a mix of disbelief and credence.

“You do realise this isn’t a romance novel,” he says eventually. “She’d punch you in the face before she’d let you kiss her.”

“Which is why I have to butter her up,” Narcissa tells him. She’d had the same doubts at first, but with no other feasible option, she figures she’ll just have to work her way through it. “And why you can’t come today.”

Severus rolls his eyes, arms folding together atop the desk. “It seems rather extreme.”

“Hardly. It’s harmless fun.”

“Yes, emotional manipulation does tend to be fun,” is Severus’ response, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Especially for the one being manipulated.”

“Oh, it’s no—” Narcissa cuts herself off with a huff, looks Severus in the eye. “You can’t tell her.”

“Of course not,” he says. “I’d much rather see you fail on your own.”

“Always the gentlemen,” Narcissa murmurs. She bites back her smile, fingertips tapping against the parchment in front of her.  “Now—do you want me to teach you this or not?”

***

Hours later, she finds Evans in their usual spot, head bent over a strip of parchment, vibrant red hair falling across her shoulder and pooling on the desk. Narcissa stills, takes a moment to simply watch before continuing on and taking her seat.

“Evans.” She pulls the textbook out, her ink and quill following.

“Black,” Lily responds. She turns, looks in the direction Narcissa had appeared from. “Where’s Severus?”

“Busy,” Narcissa tells her. “Slughorn needs him—another incident with the aconite fluid.”

“Right,” Evans says slowly. She looks back to Narcissa, her expression one of combined confusion and suspicion. It’s something Narcissa is getting quite accustomed to. “Then why are you here?”

Narcissa sighs softly. “I can be civil,” she says. “I said I’d tutor you, and I intend to. If you’d rather I leave...”

“No,” Evans answers, almost too quickly. “No—it’s. It’s fine.”

“Good.” Narcissa allows herself a smile, fingers reaching for the required text. “Severus said you have an essay due?”

Evans nods, fingers fumbling to gather the parchment she’d been scribbling on. “I started on a plan,” she murmurs, “but I’m stuck on the link between fur and metal.”

Narcissa takes the offered paper, eyes scanning the surprisingly neat handwriting. It isn’t anything like her penmanship, but it isn’t anything like Severus’ near unintelligible scrawl, either, so she considers herself lucky. Settling in, she prepares to teach Evans everything she’d learnt two years past.

By the end of their session, Narcissa has moved from her usual seat to the one right beside Evans, and Evans is looking up at her, red lips pulled to a genuine smile. Narcissa is caught off guard—seemingly unable to turn away from the vibrant green eyes and the way they shine in the low library light. She’s heard Potter’s yelled compliments before—everyone has—but she’s never really  _looked_ , never really noticed the way they look—like every pretty shade of green mixed into one. Like beautiful things Narcissa can’t even begin to name.

“Same time Wednesday?”

Narcissa’s mind clears at the sound of a voice, and she nods, looks away. “Don’t forget your notes,” she reminds, staying put while Evans collects the rest of her things.

She most definitely does  _not_  watch her walk away.

***

“I don’t know what you did,” Severus says come Wednesday, “but she won’t shut up about you now.”

They’re at lunch, sitting to the back of the Slytherin table. Regulus and Avery sit in front of them, the two bickering about vampires or werewolves or another one of their arguments Narcissa never bothers to pay attention to. She smiles at Severus’ words—a barely there curve of her mouth.

“Jealous?”

“Merely annoyed that she spent Potions wondering what spell you use to do your hair.”

“It’s not a spell,” Narcissa admits. “Bella gave me lessons as a child.”

“Not the point.”

Narcissa’s smile widens, her gaze drifting from the Gryffindor table to Severus. Quietly, she says, “If you must know, I turned on my charm.”

“You don’t have any charm.”

“Not any you’ve ever seen.” She stabs a sliced piece of apple with her fork, slowly brings it to her lips. “It’s for rare occasions.”

“Like deceiving your way into the enemy’s bed.”

“Yes.” It’s funny, Narcissa thinks, the way things are playing out. Rarely, if ever, is she the pursuing partner. Often, she finds herself on the other end—is usually the one being wooed. It’s rather exciting to play predator. “Getting scared I’ll win?”

Severus opens his mouth to respond, but the words are cut off by a third figure joining their conversation. Narcissa looks up to see Rosier standing before them, her eyebrow arching when he crouches, eyes flicking between the two of them.

“Lyra says Ravenclaw’s planning something—heard some whispers about the next Slug Club meeting.” Rosier’s voice is soft when he speaks, like the information is top secret. “Potter’s in that, isn’t he? It’ll be a bloody nightmare if they’ve teamed up again. I need good news.”

“I’m working on it,” Severus says, the response falling from his mouth automatically, and Narcissa wonders just how many times Rosier has harassed him about it.

“I need something better than that.”

“He’ll get it done,” Narcissa says. “Promise.”

There’s no room for argument in her tone, and Rosier looks at her, head bobbing in a quick nod. “Alright,” he says, standing straight again, and then he’s gone as quick as he’d come.

“You’d think his life depended on it with the way he acts,” Severus murmurs, turning back to what’s left of his lunch.

Narcissa hums. “Lyra says it’s all he talks about,” she tells him. “Apparently, he feels it’s his duty as Head Boy to make sure we win.”

“Taking his responsibilities seriously, then,” says Severus, and Narcissa laughs softly.

“Every other seventh year is just as bad.”

“Yourself included,” Severus says. And then, “I suppose I’m mysteriously busy again today?”

Narcissa grins at him—a quick flash of teeth that disappears in seconds. “Now you’re getting it.”

***

Narcissa heads to the library early, this time. She has other work she needs to get done, preparation for her NEWTs. The table she usually shares with Evans is empty, so she sits there, pulls out her things, and gets to work.

She doesn’t bother keeping track of the time as she studies. It passes in a blur of reading and writing, and before she knows it, another figure is standing to the side of the desk, their body blocking the light of the lamps and casting her work in a shadow.

She’s not surprised to look up and see Evans, though she is surprised to see the nervousness of her stance, the apprehension. It’s not something Narcissa has ever associated with her.

“Severus said he was busy,” Evans explains. “I wasn’t sure if we were still—”

“We are,” Narcissa says. “Sit.”

Evans does, slipping into the seat closest to Narcissa and pulling her books from her bag. Narcissa pushes her previous work aside, slipping a torn piece of parchment between her Charms textbook to act as a bookmark.

She’s halfway through explaining the process of animagus transformation when Evans grabs her arm—warm, soft fingers closing around the curve of her wrist and cutting her off with an abrupt end.

Narcissa looks down, her eyes fixed on where Evans’ skin touches hers. “What are you doing?” she asks softly, drawing her gaze from their hands to Evans’ face—icy blue eyes meeting green.

It almost looks as if Evans doesn’t have an answer to her question. Her mouth is parted slightly, a flash of teeth visible through the gap. “Aren’t you worried?” Evans asks eventually, and Narcissa arches her brow, confused.

“About?”

“Me,” Evans says. “I mean. People have been talking, and if your sister finds out—”

Understanding hits at once, and Narcissa’s mouth twitches to a slight smirk. “My sister hardly cares what I do here,” Narcissa says. It’s a lie, of course—Bellatrix cares a little too much for Narcissa’s liking. She’d half expected a letter to come already, but there hasn’t been anything yet. “And if she did,” Narcissa continues, “I can handle myself. Bella does not scare me the way she does everyone else.”

“I’m not  _scared_ ,” Evans says, scoffing. She pulls her hand away from Narcissa’s, tucks both of her arms against her chest. “I’m just saying, she won’t be happy. I don’t see why you’d bother with me when you know that.”

The words spike something in Narcissa, a type of buried irritation. It was always the same narrative—the same expectations created by her family, her sisters. The same  _why do this when they want you to do that._

“I can make my own decisions,” she says, and there’s an obvious edge to her voice, one that makes Lily recoil. “Or would you rather I leave?”

“No—I.” Evans exhales slowly, rubs tiredly at her eyes. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “I just—Never mind.”

She turns back to their work, and Narcissa stares for a moment before eventually doing the same. An awkward tension is left hanging between them, one she feels the need to dispel, but any idea on how to do it escapes her.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to. Evans talks enough for the both of them, seemingly embarrassed to have brought it up at all. Narcissa would be annoyed at the constant whispering, only the things Evans has to say are actually worth listening to, and the promise of interesting conversation pushes her irritation aside.

By the time their study session is over, Evans has requested she call her Lily, and neither of them actually move to leave. Instead, they sit together for some time, finishing separate work in a shared space and conversing softly.

It’s  _almost_ friendly.

When she returns to the Common Room that night, Narcissa beelines for her dorm—if only to avoid the knowing, amused look Severus has on his face.

 

 

**_days until the easter holidays: 1._ **

**_-_ **

The kiss, when it comes, is initiated by Narcissa.

It’s perfectly timed, though time is hardly at the forefront of Narcissa’s mind. She is more preoccupied with the way Lily looks—with the inviting, flirtatious smile on Lily’s face and the way it feels to have Lily’s hands on her. Narcissa’s back is pressed to the wall, her body hidden both by the statue to their left and by Lily’s form in front of her.

“I could sneak you in,” Lily is saying, her voice soft, quiet. Warm breath ghosts across Narcissa’s face, and Narcissa feels her stomach do an odd, little flip—excitement, anticipation.

_Accomplishment._

“If I’m seen...” she starts, but the words are barely out of her mouth before they’re cut off with a kiss; the press of Lily’s lips on hers soft and sweet.

“You won’t be,” Lily promises. “I know a way in.”

There is a certainty to Lily’s voice—an excitement—and it  _almost_  makes Narcissa feel bad, but she’d worked hard to get them here—had had to come up with an array of excuses to see Evans more, to make sure they had the time to formulate some type of friendly relationship. She’d forced Severus to tell her everything he knew about Lily’s usual whereabouts, had taken the information and used it to all but stalk the girl until civil had transgressed to friendly, which had turned to flirty, which had eventually led to  _this_.

Her actions would’ve been embarrassing, really, only Lily had seemed to find them charming.

“If you sure,” she says, and Lily grins—big and bright and beautiful—and the next thing Narcissa feels is a hand grabbing hers, is fingers linking with hers. It’s late—well past curfew—but Narcissa doesn’t care as Lily pulls her toward an unfamiliar corridor, her soft giggle filling the otherwise empty halls. 

It is exactly what she’d been working toward, and to finally have it is exhilarating.

To actually  _want_  it only adds to the high.

***

Later, Lily wakes her in the early hours of the morning, long before anyone else would bother getting up. Narcissa almost falls of the bed at the sound of a voice in her ear, her expression morphing to a cold glare when Lily laughs.

“It’s not funny,” she says, but Lily continues to grin.

Tiptoeing around the closed curtains, Narcissa gathers her clothes from the night before. All they’d done was kiss a little, but she’d borrowed some of Lily’s clothes to sleep in—had needed to stay the night for the final part of her plan.

She points to her borrowed shirt, a silent question, and Lily shakes her head. “Keep them,” she says softly. “Give them back later.”

Narcissa nods, pulling her school robe around her shoulders. She slips her feet into her shoes, carries the rest of her clothes in her free arm, her bag slung over one shoulder.

“Do you need me to walk you out?”

“No.” It would ruin everything, and that is the last thing Narcissa wants. She leans forward, presses a feather-light kiss to Lily’s cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

Lily nods, settling back down under the blankets, and Narcissa slips past the bed curtains. No one had seen her come in, and nor do they see her leave.

They don’t see her place the three magical colour bombs throughout the Common Room, either.

***

That morning, Slytherin make their way to the Great Hall long before the other houses. Rosier double checks with everyone, makes sure everything that needed to be done was done. Only once everything’s confirmed does he takes his seat—face to the door, so he can see everyone walk in.

“Get ready to pay up,” Narcissa murmurs, a smirk planted on her face. Severus rolls his eyes, though she can see the amusement—knows he wanted this as much as the rest of them.

It’s only moments until they catch the sound of footsteps approaching, of annoyed voices. Narcissa looks down the table, sees some students pretending to be interested in the food, though most are staring eagerly at the door.

A group of Gryffindors are the first to walk through, a few stray Hufflepuffs following. Professor McGonagall is there, too, walking quickly to the front of the crowd. The clothes they wear are all dyed a deep green, the colour of their hair a shimmering silver—like the strands had been covered with glitter.

Their irritation is obvious, and Narcissa has to stifle a laugh at the sight, especially when the Hall starts to fill.

“Morning, Professor!” Rosier calls, and Narcissa does laugh at the look it gets him.

“Mr. Rosier,” is the reply. McGonagall’s voice is clipped, her lips pursed. “Care to explain?”

“Not a clue what happened,” Rosier responds. “Maybe the elv—”

“Oh, you lying piece of sh—”

“ _Language_ , Mr. Black.”

“Fuck language, look at my  _hair!”_

_“Sirius!”_

Narcissa watches as Sirius steps forward, hand curled in the shining, silver locks. He looks well past pissed, she thinks, and another burst of laughter bubbles in her chest.

“It’s all over the bloody Common Room, too,” someone else is saying. “This bloody power, it’s like wal—”

“If this has ruined my shoes, I sw—”

“How in the bloody hel—”

“Oi! It happened to Ravenclaw, t—”

The Hall continues to fill, students and staff walking in until all Narcissa can see is one large mob of people dressed in the same shade of green. They mill about, their angry voices blurring together and filling the room with shouts of  _how_  and  _what_  and  _when_.

No one offers any real explanation. They don’t admit to sneaking around, don’t say they spent hours brewing dyes, or that they’d spent a fair bit of money on the required colour bombs, or that they’d broken a number of rules convincing the house elves to let them into the laundry room. All Rosier offers is an amused  _it’ll wear off in a day, maybe two._

It only makes the rest of them angrier. 

The table erupts in more laughter when Dumbledore finally joins them, his outfit just as ridiculous as everyone else’s. Narcissa dips her head, close enough so Severus can hear. “I think we won this round,” she murmurs, and Severus can only nod.

No one—not even the other houses—can dispute it.

***

Narcissa’s good mood continues for most of the day. There really is no way for their prank to be reversed, and so the rest of the school are forced to walk around sporting green and silver, their faces fixed with scowls. It was always the other way around—always Slytherin against the rest of them—and to finally get back at everyone at once feels good.

Or it does, right up until Narcissa finds Lily.

They’re in the corridor just off the Defence classroom, the hall empty save a few first years skittering around the corner. Even coloured like she is, Narcissa recognises her. She’s standing still, hands rummaging through her bag, looking for something.

“The green looks good on you,” she calls, unable to keep the comment to herself.

She’s not quite prepared for the furious look Lily sends her.

Narcissa stops meters away from her, brows rising in surprise. Anger is embedded in every line of Lily’s face—the emotion palpable. “What’s wrong?”

 _“What’s wrong?”_  Lily echoes, voice louder than it needs to be. She waves an arm in front of her body, points to the new attire. “Are you kidding!”

“It’s just a joke,” Narcissa says. Really, she doesn’t understand what the big deal is—Gryffindor had done much worse is previous years.

“A joke,” Lily repeats. Her tone is accusing, the words said with a scoff. She folds her arms across her chest, looks Narcissa in the eye. “I suppose the rest of it was a joke, too, then.”

And,  _oh_ , Narcissa thinks. She’d forgotten that this would happen, that there would be repercussions.

“It wasn’t,” she says, but Lily obviously doesn’t believe her. Narcissa can’t blame her, really—not when it’d started out that way. But...

“Just leave me alone, Black.” The words are resigned—deflated. Lily sighs, and the anger seems to leave her in the slow exhale. She turns to leave, back to Narcissa, and Narcissa feels a spike of panic flair up inside her.

“No—” It’s said with none of her usual grace, the word slipping past her lips like a plea. She steps forward, grabs Lily’s wrist, forcefully turns her around. “No, I—That was real.”

It’s a lie. It’s a lie, but it feels honest—feels like she means it. Narcissa realises with some surprise that maybe she does, that maybe it’d started out as a joke but had turned to something more. She takes a deep breath, tightens her grip of Lily’s arm.

“That was real,” she says again. Her voice is softer, this time. Gentle, almost.

“I don’t believe you.” Lily’s face still holds traces of anger, but there is none of the previous bite to her words. Instead, she sounds hurt.

Narcissa can feel a groan press at the back of her teeth, but she swallows it down. Flicking her gaze to either side of them, Narcissa makes sure the corridor is still empty before turning back to Lily. “Let me show you,” she says, filling the gap between them.

Her lips cover Lily’s before anything else can be said, the press of her mouth slow and sweet. Her hand curls around Lily’s jaw, her fingertips a feather-light pressure. Below her, Lily sighs softly, her body melting under the touch, and Narcissa knows that any remaining anger has vanished completely.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos = <3


End file.
